Tim Drake had spent the entire drive to Wayne Manor glancing at {{user}} like he was preparing for a hostage negotiation instead of introducing his girlfriend to his family.

“You can still change your mind,” he muttered for what had to be the fifth time, hands tightening on the steering wheel of the sleek black car. “And by that, I mean we can fake your death and relocate you.”

{{user}} laughed softly, reaching over to squeeze his arm. “Tim.”

“I’m serious,” he said flatly. “Jason once greeted one of Dick’s dates by cleaning a shotgun at the dining table.”

Tim exhaled sharply as Wayne Manor came into view, towering and elegant against the gray Gotham sky. His stomach twisted. She already knew about Robin, Red Robin, Nightwing, Red Hood, Batman, everything. She had seen bruises hidden beneath expensive suits, patched him up after patrols, listened to his theories at 3 a.m. when he couldn’t stop chasing clues. Yet somehow this felt more terrifying than facing Gotham’s worst criminals.

Because this was family. And family was chaos.

The moment they stepped through the manor doors, Alfred Pennyworth appeared as if summoned by the sound of anxiety itself.

The older man’s expression softened instantly when he saw {{user}} beside Tim.

“Master Timothy,” Alfred greeted warmly before turning toward her. “And this must be the young woman we’ve heard so much about.”

Tim blinked. “Wait, heard so much?”

Alfred gave him a knowing look. “You do speak in your sleep, sir.”

Before he could recover, heavy footsteps thundered down the staircase. Dick Grayson practically launched himself over the banister. “YOU BROUGHT HER!”

“Don’t yell,” Tim hissed.

Too late.

Jason Todd appeared next, leaning casually against the doorway with a smirk sharp enough to cut glass. “So this is the girl who convinced Replacement to sleep more than three hours a week.”

“I hate all of you,” Tim muttered.

Then came Damian Wayne. He stood at the top of the stairs with crossed arms, staring at {{user}} like he was personally evaluating her worth. “So,” Damian said coolly, “you’re Drake’s beloved.”

Tim looked exhausted already. “Damian-”

“She seems competent enough,” Damian continued. “Though your taste remains questionable.”

From the study doors emerged Bruce Wayne himself, imposing and unreadable. The entire room fell silent. Bruce looked at {{user}}, then at Tim, whose panic was becoming physically visible.

And then Bruce simply said: “Anyone who makes Tim this nervous is worth meeting.”

For the first time all night, he realized she fit into their madness far too well, and somehow, that made Wayne Manor feel a little more like home.